I like girls that wear Abercrombie & Fitch. . . or I used to.

I don't like to come on my blog and do much of anything but poke fun at life. . . particularly mine.  But, every now and again, something comes along that really tweaks my melon and I feel morally obligated to address it.  This morning is no exception.  In fact, I'm hoping that you know me well enough that if any of you read this article, you immediately jumped to my blog and/or Facebook page to see if I had any commentary on the subject.  So, here it is:

As a quick side note, I hate to even draw attention to this story in fear that it will draw added attention to the Abercrombie and Fitch brand.  At the same time, there is enough terrifyingly awful commentary made in this bitter diatribe that I think it's important to address it - particularly when discussing a brand's perspective.  If this was simply about a personal opinion of the CEO of A&F, I'd leave him to his opinions and let him believe as he may.  However, when you take such a flawed perspective and make it your company mantra and, in a sense, refuse service to the masses because of said opinion, you've crossed a line.

In case you don't want to read the article (which is short and incredibly, awfully compelling - it's like watching a train wreck happen right in front of your eyes), the president of Abercrombie and Fitch has stated that they purposefully don't carry any sizes larger than a 'large' to keep fat girls from wearing his clothes; fat girls aren't popular or cool and would taint his brand target - popular and cool kids.  He does cater to big boys however, because of course guys that wear these sizes are the athletic type and (clearly) popular.

If you have any sense of moral integrity, I'll excuse you for a minute while you throw up in your mouth.  Go ahead. . . I'll wait.

Before I even address the moral ambiguity of these statements, I'd like to stick to a purely economic argument, something that I'm hoping will cross waist-size barriers and make sense to the masses.

The CEO states that brands that try to cater to everyone rather than a skinny, 28" waist are just "vanilla" and will eventually be obsolete.  I completely agree with niche marketing - when you have a legitimate niche.  Let's take a brand like Skull Candy, for example.  They don't advertise to the masses - it would be a waste of money; their edgy product line doesn't typically appeal to the 40+ crowd. . . but they can.  Even though an edgy brand like Skull Candy doesn't go out of their way to market outside of their niche audience (which is HUGE, by the way), they don't alienate others from buying their product.  First bad move, A&F.

Second, the size of the niche.  If I were on the A&F board and had any sense of the American woman, I'd know that the average pant size for women in this country is a 14 - that is two whole sizes larger than you even carry.  Two pant sizes isn't close - it's not squeezable and extends way beyond the acceptable muffin top.  We are talking not breathable, folks - crushed ovaries.  For those at A&F who have trouble with math, let me explain something to you: an average basically means the middle.  So, while about half of the people wear a pant size under size 14, about half wear over that.  This basically means that you are alienating over 50% of your potential market by not making clothes that are slightly larger for basically the same cost (maybe a difference of pennies on the dollar. . . maybe).  How does this make economic sense?  If I walked into a meeting and said "I know how to appeal to 20% more of the population with no added hard cost on our goods," I would be made Queen for a Month.

I must profess that I don't work in clothing retail and have little knowledge about the A&F margins.  BUT, I have never in my 31 years of living seen a store charge different prices for a size 10 pant vs a size 14, so I have to assume that the additional material cost has to be minuscule enough that no company EVER has though to mark up the larger sizes.

I'm not being irrational here - I'm not saying that A&F needs to delve into the plus-sized clothing model as clearly, it's a niche of its own and does carry significantly more material cost (I'm assuming that's the case anyway otherwise why in the heck am I paying so much for a pair of pants?).  I am, however, asking who is looking at this model and thinking it's a good idea?

Lastly, I can see the point about how targeting the masses makes you "vanilla".  Hey A&F, I double-dog-dare you to take you earnings over the last six quarters and sit across the table from Wal-Mart and Target and call them "vanilla".  Side note: if you are thinking this isn't a fair comparison because of the additional product selection, I say 'fine', just compare your profits to those in the clothing departments only.  However, I say that this even further makes my point as both of these stores epitomize diversifying, both in size and product selection which backs my model to another degree.  How are those plaid shorts and Polo's going for you, btw?

OK - now comes the more emotionally charged part so if you are left-brained and really just about the numbers, this is where you sign off, agreeing that my math is correct and reason enough that you shouldn't shop at a company with such ridiculous leadership.  Adios and see you next time.

For the rest of you that know that I'm about to do a chubby-girl rant, I will try not to disappoint.
The CEO (I accidentally just typed DEO and almost left it there. . . you can infer what the "D" stands for in this instance) states in what I can only hope is part of his resignation letter that "In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids.  Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong."  Let's address this with some personal experience, shall we?

I've never been thin.  OK, that's a lie.  I was "thinner" once after taking drastic, pill-popping measures to lose the chub and fit in.  I was between eighth and ninth grade and had already dealt with about 8 years of thinking that being thinner would make me more popular - the very stereotype that the CEO is trying to pass off as truth.  At my thinnest, I could have fit into a pair of A&F pants - at the top end.

Anyway, I got thinner and had a great time doing so and then got fatter again (and had a great time doing so) and I realized something - NOTHING was different.  I wasn't any more or less popular because of my pant size.  I had the same friends, did the same things, wrote the same papers, tutored the same idiots (that generally shopped at A&F) and earned the same honors that I did when I was thin.

In fact, I would venture to say that I was more popular and cool because I knew what it meant to be chubby.  Being chubby made me empathetic to other people's issues and that, in turn, made me a good listener.  Everyone talked to me.  I got hear all sorts of skinny kid issues over the years - and believe me, the "cool" kids have them.

Being chubby taught me how to laugh and make jokes about life's unfair nature.  This put me into the "funny" group that got invited to parties because I could get people laughing and have a great time.

Being chubby let me focus on my school work because I didn't have a date every Friday night.  But guess what, neither did the skinny kids.  And when they didn't, they were asking me to help them with projects and papers and make it so they could graduate.  I was popular in class because everyone knew I could help them get a better grade and have a great time doing it.  I would also argue that this focus made me much "cooler" in college as well because I had time to hang out with friends and go and do things because I didn't have a job. . . because I didn't have to. . . because my school was being paid for.  Now THAT is cool.

I love that this article pokes fun of the CEO at the end, wondering if he is still longing to be part of the "cool crowd", even though high school (and apparently smarts) waved bye bye to him long ago.  While it's a joke, I think it poignantly makes the point "What is cool anyway?"  Being thin doesn't automatically make you cool - being an athlete doesn't make you cool; it doesn't not make you cool either.  I knew a lot of athletes and "all-American kids" in high school that didn't have friends because they were complete jerks.  I knew chubby kids with the same problems.  I know people now that were very talented athletes in high school that are even cooler now than they were then. . . not because they went pro (and I don't even know their pant sizes) but because they have stayed steady and are good, incredible people, right to the core.  I know chubby kids in the same category.  Now THAT is cool.

I hope I've made my point and for the sake of not making this any more of a novella, I'll finish with this:

We already have far too many kids questioning their worth because of their looks and I think that a company coming forward with this POV is just socially irresponsible.  At times (not all the time but in a lot of cases), obesity is as genetic as cancer - kids everywhere are suffering with this problem and it's completely beyond their control; they have parent's with bad habits, they are low-income and can't afford healthy foods, their schools don't teach healthy habits, they are genetically pre-disposed- whatever the case, they can't help it.  It isn't fair to pigeon-hole them into a category of "not cool" because they are overweight.  Side note: I use "overweight very loosely here because remember, we are talking about pant sizes that are well below "average" or "middle" - I don't think you are "over" anything.

Some of the most fun, most witty, smartest, loving, incredible people that I've ever met can't (and I'm hoping never will) shop at A&F.  And that's OK.

In honor of chubby people everywhere, I'm going to be bold here and do what I do about once per year:

Abercrombie and Fitch is on Carlee's Black List o' Businesses.  Just don't shop there.  There are perfectly acceptable substitutes (the article even mentions two of them) that also sell t-shirts and bum-hugging shorts at a lesser price.  Do it because it's the right thing to do.  Do it because their business practices are ridiculous.  Do it for the chubby kids that is helping you with your homework.

Afterthought: I know that there will likely be some parallels drawn between what I'm saying here and other politically and socially charged issues of the day.  Although I see the situation as very different, you may be wondering why I haven't written anything about these situations.  I'm here to tell you that I didn't take a stand on this just because I am chubby, although I identify.

I think there is a HUGE difference between a CEO/management having personal views about a topic and a business actually taking a position on such.  While I do think there is always a need for corporate responsibility and for public figures to be careful with their actions and words, I think (as I said) it crosses a line to make your opinion the practice of the business.  These types of alienation have no place in business and I hope that A&F gets exactly what they are hoping for. . . a very, very small population of the most popular kids shopping at their stores.  So small, in fact, that they become a distant memory like their biggest supporters, LMFAO.

You've Been Boxed

So, I've been graduated and working at a "grown up" job for nearly a decade now.  (I say "grown up" because part of my job is teaching people about social media and writing for them and really, that's just fun and not so grown up - all of the teenagers that I know basically want my job. . . and maybe I paint a prettier picture than reality so that they all think I'm cool.  So what?  They don't need to know that I Facebook for medical supplies and not Nike - specifics aren't necessary.)  

In that decade, I've met a lot of people at work - some of them have become great friends and some of them, well, let's just say that I would totally duck into the feminine hygiene isle at the grocery store to avoid seeing in my private life.  Anyway, a lot of people.  Yes, that was the point.  And these people must be categorized.

I'm going to tell you right now that I have very strict boxes that I put people into once we meet at work: buddy or professional acquaintance.  Crossing over is not easily tackled.  

If you do, by chance, enter the coveted "Co-Worker. Friend. All-Star" box of greatness, you are basically there for life.  This is like the all-access pass that says "Hey, not only would I trust you with my budgets but I'd trust you to throw down at a dance party without hurting yourself as well."  It's kind of a big deal - not because it's a special club with free movie tickets or anything but because I have a very low, VERY LOW, annoyance tolerance so to beat that in a social AND work setting is a tough job.  I don't issue passes to this club (if I did, they would absolutely have glitter on them) - you just know when you are in.  The people that have this title are literally the best, brightest and coolest people I know.  We can have a contest.  They will beat anyone at coolness.  Easily.

I'm proud to say that this box has grown size-ably over the years and there are exactly 30 members at this current juncture.  (This is going to send all of my former co-workers into a crazy spin wondering if they are in.  Remember, you just know.  So if you don't, keep reading.  This section isn't for you.)  Considering that I've been working professionally for about eight years, this club is more exclusive than Congress.  Well done, my friends.  Well done.

And then there are the "other guys" - the people that are content residing in one of my previously-mentioned compartments.  My thought is that they are either content because they don't care (not usually the case because the non-carers are in the All Star box, more than likely), they don't know that they aren't in the crossover section of peeps, or they are total jerks.  (This third category is surprisingly large - not all of them mean jerks, but jerks in some sense).

Anxious to know where you sit?  Well, other than the "you just know" hint that I've already thrown out (and who doesn't feel comfortable with that??), here are a couple of hints:

If you send me a request on LinkedIn because we are "buddies" and worked together once and I never respond - it's not because I didn't see it.  It's because I think you are excellent at parties and a super great bowler but I have zero desire to connect to you on a work-endorsement basis.  Translation: you might want to look at our relationship in a strict "work only" sense and see if I am the right person to ask for an endorsement from because, more than likely, you don't want any of this.  I probably know all of your work secrets like the three hour lunches after you spent your morning on eBay and finishing YouTube.  Trust me, it's better that I just ignore the request.  It's kind of like seeing someone's baby for the first time and all of the comments you can make are about arbitrary things like "man, her hair sure is curly" or "look at those feet" or "oh, he looks so happy".  I'm trying to avoid telling you that your baby looks like the spawn of Mars life without being insulting.  Same issue applies with work stuff.  Don't ask me for the endorsement unless you are really sure that I'm actually going to compliment your work and not write "Has great socks" as your professional thumbs-up.  You, my work com padre, are in the buddy box.  I don't want to be tied to you professionally.  Don't ask me to help you get a job or a raise - I don't wanna.  But hey, we can still bowl.

The flip side is also true - just because I give you a ringing professional endorsement on LinkedIn does not mean that I am anxious to see your weekend escapades with your cousins and the World's Largest Ball of Twine on Facebook.  I just don't think of you like that; I respect you at work and would totally hire you in a heartbeat and will get you a raise before you know it but we do not know each other otherwise.  We aren't buddies if we see each other at Target - I'll likely introduce you to whoever I'm with but will do so as my "co worker" and move on. . . if I haven't already ducked somewhere to avoid the awkward social interaction.  Welcome to the professional acquaintance box.

There is one other box that I put people into that I don't like to talk about because it's a very dark and scary place.  It is even more difficult to get a spot in this box than my All Star box. . . it's the "I'd sooner drink the water than share it if your clothes were on fire" box.  These people have done the near impossible of not only being lazy and incompetent at their jobs but being jerks about it and generally, no fun at all.  I only talk to these people because I'm getting paid to and even then, I have to give myself a pep-talk before I go in.  Getting into this box has proven a difficult task for most.  In fact, until just a few years ago, I didn't even have this fourth box because it was unnecessary.

The good part about this fourth box (and the only reason I disclose it) is that it makes the other two divisions of my game seem a lot less harsh - at least we can bond over spreadsheets on Just Dance - not both, but one or the other.  Oh, and I would at least share the water.

Don't judge me for compartmentalizing people.  Ah, the irony.

Real People Don't Win Things

I'm baaaack.  I hope that read as creepy as I meant it to.  And if it didn't, you need to up your scary movie intake big time.

I've had a fairly random tangent on my brain lately so I figured that it was only appropriate to take to the blog-o-sphere to write about it.  After all, this is my completely public diary of my most embarrassingly twisted thoughts. . . Oh, you thought I was going to post pictures of my family from the past year?  Sorry to disappoint but you are on the wrong blog.  No photos here; just a dose of sarcasm with a side order of cynicism so abort if you must.

This train of thought is brought to you by Ellen.  That's right, Ellen.  You know the hilariously real television host who loves to give stuff away and is a friend to the animals?  That's who I'm talking about.  You see, I've always been an Ellen fan - read her books, watch her specials and tune into the show; she's one of the few 'true to herself' folks on television these days and I find that rather refreshing.  I support people like that so it's why I watch.

If you've seen her show, you know that Ellen is a giver.  She is always giving away cars and money and shopping trips and whatever to her audience and to people in need - it's rather inspiring and awesome.  She gives to charitable causes and people down on their luck and in tough spots.  She even gave away a brand new house once to a lady that needed it which floored me - it's a pretty big step up from Tickle Me Elmo, right?

Well, some years ago two of my besties and I decided to take a road trip to see So Cal and (drumroll), we got tickets to Ellen!  I was so excited.  We went to the show and had a great time dancing and laughing and all of that good stuff.

Confession time: I probably should have done the Christian thing before we left and warned my friends that (here comes the thesis of this blog) I, Carlee Hansen, am the most unlucky person on Earth.  I don't win things randomly.  I don't even get detergent samples in the mail when they are issued to entire zip codes - somehow, they always run out right at my address.  But I was sure that the trip would be a success and I'd at least get the CD of a musical guest or something so that I could say that Ellen changed my luck. 

About half way through the show, Ellen was interviewing a guest and talking about bettering the world and then it came.  The tension was palpable.  I could tell she was about to do a give-away and I, Carlee Hansen, was about to end my unlucky streak with the woman who makes everyone's dreams come true!  Ellen turned and said "And everyone in the audience is going home with. . ."  hold your breath. . . "A dog collar."

Um. . . what?  A dog collar?  You can imagine my dismay when I realized that my unlucky streak flew with us to California and sat next to me at the Ellen Show.  A dog collar?  I don't have a dog.  I don't even know someone who would want said collar!

Now I'm not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth; for heaven's sake I would have been happy with a CD.  But a dog collar?  I was at a loss for words.  The one time I actually am issued something like everyone else, I couldn't even use it.  If the dog collar had said "Ellen" on it, I probably would have framed it or something at least but it was from a non-profit group and came in a plastic bag like the ones you get a toy in at McDonald's.  I could hear an audible "wah waaaaaah" in my head.

The point: every time that I've watched Ellen since that fateful day, not once has she given away a dog collar.  Not one time.  What do I do?  Well I do the only logical thing: I keep watching and hoping that by some crazy stroke of luck, I'm going to see Ellen's bus pull up in front of my house to make up for the dog collar incident.  This train of thought is particularly hilarious considering that she has no idea that we exist or that I'm harboring feelings about said dog collar.

I have come to a point that I do realize that I'm not alone.  I bet Ellen's swag bus has never even been to Utah, period.  (I promise we don't all wear bonnets and long dresses.  Salt Lake even has a democratic mayor now!  You know, just in case that is an issue).  I have come to the conclusion that regular people don't win things. . . ever.

I have thought back about the people that I know and I think that the best thing anyone has ever one is an iPad.  I know that you are thinking that my friends probably just don't post about their amazing winnings but clearly, you don't know my people for if they won something amazing, the first thing they would do is take to the inner-webs to announce said winnings. . . narcissistic jerks.  Jokes, jokes.

I just don't believe that regular people win things.  I've seen the commercials for Publisher's Clearing House and there is a haunting similarity between them all: everyone that wins PCH lives in the sticks of some underwater county and barely speaks English.  I've concluded that this is the case because anyone at a socioeconomic level above that would read the fine print of the contracts they sign and PCH wouldn't be able to jip them out of a ton of money.  Normal people don't win $5000 per week for the rest of their lives.  They just don't.

Here are some other things that I have never seen or heard of a person winning: a car give-away, mortgage paid for for a year, free house, any amount of money.  I barely hear of anyone actually winning gift cards.  Not at the mall, not on tv, not anywhere.  I've never actually seen or heard of someone winning these items that, oddly, I see being "given away" all of the time. I smell conspiracy.  Lastly, there are enough people in this country that eat McDonald's multiple times a day that someone, somewhere should have won something of value from Monopoly at this point.  And it wouldn't it be awesome publicity for McDonald's to publicize these winners?  But it never happens.  Ever.  Why?  Normal people don't win stuff.

Just once I'd like to see someone I know get something amazing.  I've succumbed to the fact that it won't ever happen for me because I'm the unluckiest person on Earth, despite the fact that Fate owes me a huge bone after this year.  But it would restore my faith in humanity if someone I knew won something big. . . and I mean something that they didn't have to lift a finger for, just because the universe wanted to balance things out a bit.  So prove me wrong, Fate.  And Ellen, we're that weird shaped state between Nevada and Colorado.  Now is a great time to visit - you and Portia can get your ski on.  I'd be glad to give your driver directions.  Holler if you're interested.

Everything I needed to know about life I learned on Facebook.

"I Facebook."  It's like hearing someone say "I breathe," isn't it?  Even after years of being on Facebook, I continue to be amazed by what people are willing to post online for the masses to read.  Seriously.  No, no. . . seriously. 

Sidenote: there is a good chance that this post may be a good ol' slap in the face to a good portion of my Facebook readers that also consider themselves FB aficionados.  I'm doing this for everyone's sanity so don't take it personal.  Also note that I do social media for a living so I see EVERYTHING you post so I've just become easily annoyed. . . I blame the frequency.

The last several months have taught me a lot about life. . . and not just mine.  I'd like to thank all of my FB buddies for teaching me all about life and your points of view on things.  Here is what I've learned:

• Jesus doesn't support spam emails or photos on Facebook.  In fact, He didn't even have Facebook when he was alive (that may shock you kiddos).  Me not "liking or sharing" a picture doesn't mean I hate Jesus or puppies or kids with cancer.  It just means I don't want to.
• Generally the people who talk the most about politics know the very least.  These people are also the perpetuation of misrepresentation of political ideals (smartest sentence I've written in a while).
  
• On a related topic: You can find an article or info-graphic to support your thoughts on anything.  That doesn't make it real or right or true.  (but feel free to use this blog to support your ideals at anytime. . . it's about as credible as NBC News or Fox these days).
• Mondays still stink. . . after all these years.  Thanks for the reminder.
• All kids with odd diseases are sweet and beautiful.  I know that you think these photos need "likes" to prove it but you don't.  100% of people should agree with me and if they don't, they are heartless and don't matter anyway.  And no, there isn't a company that is going to donate $1 to research said disease for every like their picture gets.  No company is that crazy. . . or that generous for that matter.
• Popping the world's largest zit is apparently more exciting than any other video on the internet, followed closely by Robert Pattinson moving out and fighting over their dog.  I just threw up in my mouth a little bit and am embarrassed for you.
• Equality and the right to free speech are both very, very important.  They are.  Any time we try to rank the order of importance of rights granted in the Constitution, we are in a bad place.  One is no more important than the other.  In fact, it is the right to free speech that allows minority groups to stand on a corner and picket a business.  Smell the irony?  What would happen if we boycotted everyone who said or watched or wrote something off-color or, I'll even grant, stupid in their lives?  (See previous bullet - a good portion of Facebook users should be boycotted for watching that video).  People can have opinions and you don't have to agree with them. . . that's what makes America great!
• eCards have made everyone funny.  "Thanks funny people who write eCards for letting me post twisted Hallmark cards online.  My "likes" have gone up 30%."

I've got some duck-face bathroom pictures to post (jokes, jokes. . . I take mine in the car) so I had better get to it.  Happy Facebooking, all.  And don't forget to share this post if you love puppies.

I have a complex. . .

I've missed this.  A lot.  I was telling some family yesterday that I wanted to get back into blogging because seriously, my heart is here.  Going six months without blogging might not aide in proving my point but what can you do when you have a baby.  I don't even do my hair.

I'm pretty sure that there is only one male that reads my blog (hey David) so I feel like the start of this blog may only be rough for him.  Stay with me though, my point gets much more vast and much less uncomfortable as my ranting continues.

I have a complex.  I think it may be one that a lot of people silently suffer from but since I find it not only disturbing but mildly humorous, I think this is an appropriate venue to talk about it.

I called my doctor today (how many stories start this way and you immediately want to check out?) to schedule an appointment - you know, the kind that generally only happens once every twelve months.  (I could say this same sentence 15 years ago and everyone would automatically assume I was talking about my physical I would always get before basketball camp.  If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can stick to that.).  Anyway, as I called today, June 4th, I was notified by the appointments desk that my doctor's next available appointment is at the end of July.  JULY.  Three things struck me at this very moment: first, I need to stop doing such an amazing job of telling everyone how great my doctor is because they are making it so my yearly becomes a year and a halfly.  Second, I missed my calling.  Apparently there is a pretty major market for doctor's that can do. .  ahem. . . physicals.  I think I should have stuck out biology and went the way of job security.

The final thought that went through my head (and this is where the complex comes in) was (audibly): "Alright.  That will give me another two months to lose more of the baby weight.  She'll be proud."  Um, what?  Did I just project my need for acceptance onto my doctor?  Really?  Yes, yes I did.

You see, I have this issue that anytime I go and get a professional service done, I, in the back of my warped head, am hoping that said professional will turn to me and say "I am not needed here.  You are free to go."  Or, at the very least, nod in amazement because they have never seen such a specimen and they feel overly privileged to be performing such a service.  I'll give you a couple of examples of this:

The Pedicure
Do I think I have the most fabulous feet in the world, no.  Do I like to think that I offer some sort of relief to my pedicuring vixen that my feet are not the grossest thing they have ever seen?  Yes.  The point of a pedicure: to relax, get your feet treated and PAY to walk out with perfectly manicured toes.  So naturally, it only makes sense that I remove my chipped nail polish and pumice my feet for a week before I go in for said treatment.  I don't want them to work too hard (or talk about me when I leave, or while I'm right there, either way).

The Dentist
I have straight teeth and I brush. . . but never as hard or as long as I do the day I go to the dentist.  Most of the time I even rinse and floss before I go so that when he asks, I can say "Sure do."  Never mind that one day of rinsing will not fool a seasoned professional (or a third year student for that matter).  The point is that in my head, it totally fools him and every dental tech that enters the room.  I sit in that chair ready for him to say "I have never seen such a fine smile," and then proudly sends me on my way.  Usually, reality sets in and for one reason or another, I can't feel the right side of my face for the next few hours.  BUT I RINSED!?!?!

The Hairdresser
Did I just wash and straighten my hair before I got here?  Noooo.  "What, oh my gosh no.  Seriously, I haven't washed it in a couple of days and it looks so dirty right now."  False.  PS: I pulled out the couple of gray hairs in the front too so that you can wonder how my color holds so well.  Must be that expensive shampoo that I use every day.  Must be that.

You get my point?  So back to the doc.  During my pregnancy, my doctor was amazing at reminding me to eat healthy and try to not gain too much weight.  (Pregnant translation: eat all the chocolate cake you are craving.  Who is going to say anything?)  So, I did what any patient would do and took her advice: I ate more vegetables (with my hamburger) and drank skim milk (after that chocolate cookie).  Ok, I wasn't horrible but I could have been better.

One week, Trev went to an appointment with me and over the previous two weeks, I had gained like five pounds or something that sounded WAY more astronomical to the doctor than it did to me apparently.  So, she started quizzing me about what I was eating.

"What did you have for breakfast?"
"Some eggs. . . on a piece of toast."
"Hmm. . . ok.  Maybe just egg whites next time?  Lunch?"
"Some carrots and a turkey sandwich."
"Hmm. . . what kind of bread?"
(Here was my opening)
"White. . . I probably should have done wheat (like THAT made five pounds of difference)."
"Yeah, let's try that."

When she left to get some test results, my cute husband turned and smiled at me. . . and I buckled.  "Ok, I know I didn't eat toast and eggs for breakfast but if I had said that I ate a breakfast burrito from Burger Stop, she would have killed me!!"

In my head, I got away with it.  Reality says that my doctor walked straight into the hall and said "Eggs and toast my. . ."

Man is she going to be proud of me in two months. . .when I start eating healthy the Saturday before. 

Why do you taunt me so?

I'm pretty sure that I would never write a blog post about such a ridiculous subject in normal life, but being 9 months pregnant, this seems to be a topic worth addressing.  Of course it's about food so. . . Wait a minute, that would be pretty normal to discuss in normal life as well but there would be no paper trail.  Either way, I'm taking this train and going full-steam ahead.

It's called the vending machine taunt and I hate it.  It's not hard to explain because I'm sure at least 75% of the population has suffered it's wrath; the other 25% of you are eating Paleo or Jenny Craig or something similar so I'm not sure why you're on my blog in the first place.  Anyway, I digress. . .

Sometimes I just want a treat from the vending machine.  You can call it gross and that's fine.  But sometimes I get desperate and those Pop Tarts don't actually look that bad compared to the alternative. . . a gut-wrenching nothing!  Thank heaven that our work vending machine has a steady supply of Pop Tarts. . . or does it?  See, that's the issue.  I never know.  So in my mind I've built up this processed-brown-sugar-and-cinnamon obsession only to get upstairs (which is WAY more of a hike now than ever) only to find that the regular Pop Tarts have been temporarily replaced with some other (and might I add NOT CLOSE) substitute like, I don't know, fruit snacks.  Dear Vending Machine Guy: just because the package is roughly the same size, fruit snacks are not a suitable substitute for Pop Tarts!  One is a baked good (sort of) for crying out loud!  There is nothing even remotely "bready" about fruit snacks.  What are you thinking?

The only other vending machine tragedy that is equally offensive is what I like to call Flavor Alternating.  Once again, we go back to the Cinnamon and Brown Sugar scenario.  Still climbing the vicious flight of stairs, I see that blue Pop Tart package as I reach the summit.  But what is this?  It's not Brown Sugar Goodness - it's Strawberry!  I could (at this point) settle for the fruit-filled pastry if it was all there was but noooo.  There, immediately behind the Strawberry concoction, is my real craving - Brown Sugar and Cinnamon - followed by another Strawberry and another Brown Sugar. . . you get the point.  It's taunting me and I don't appreciate it.  I, again, have come to a crossroads.  Do I want the Brown Sugar bad enough to buy a pack of Strawberry as well and save it for a later date?  Sidenote: please keep in mind that this would require another trip down said stairs to try and dig out more nickels from my desk drawer since the first round nearly left me bone dry to start with.  Do I make camp next to the vending machine and try to coerce the next patron who likely won't buy anything with me standing there because vending machine food is "gross" to purchase the in-the-way Strawberry pastry?  Or do I settle and pray that sheer vending machine embarrassment, though it haunts me currently, will allow me access to the better part tomorrow since nobody eats this stuff anyway.

The point is this, bad vending machine loader man:

First, don't replace the steadfast.  If you come and all of the (insert candy of choice) here are gone, it's probably because that's what people eat so don't replace it with fruit snacks; no, it's not the same.  No.  It's not.  Stop buying the Bit-O-Crappy candy bars that still occupy a full slot in the machine and only buy the good stuff.

Second, don't alternate flavors.  There are very distinct audiences for these types of food.  Regular M&M people aren't the same as Peanut Butter who aren't the same as Pretzel.  You can't ask them to cross over.  You are messing with nature.  'Tis better that you just don't HAVE one option than alternate options in a line in the machine.  That's just cruel.

The only time either of these replacements are acceptable is if there is CLEARLY a better alternative.  Food is really subjective so this is hard to prove.  You may (in my book) only do some sort of vending machine replacement if you are a) replacing my flavor-changing-agony with a $5 bill or b) replacing it with a breakfast burrito that is fresh and warm.  No exceptions.

I know most of you are thinking that I can put a stop to this charade by just not eating out of the vending machine or by bringing my own delicious snacks to my desk.  You're probably right.  But I'm also not likely to win 'pregnant lady of the month' at anytime soon and I'm coping with both realities.

PS - if your husband or brother or nephew loads vending machines for a living, please don't send me a PDF on 'Vending Machine Etiquitte' and why they do what they do.  I'm sure there are reasons. . . they are just impossible to explain to my taste buds.

Dear Mr President. . .

President Obama is going into a LinkedIn Forum on Monday and they are allowing users to submit questions for him to answer.  I figured it was my duty (and a snowballs chance) to get my question in front of him.  I would hope more people do the same.  Here are my thoughts for the P-Rez.  Don't get mad. . . it's my blog!

"Mr President - We spend a lot of time talking out how to solve the issues of outlying groups: the extremely wealthy, the extremely poor, those that are in foreclosure and those without residency.  What about me?  I go to work every day and pay my taxes in full but I don't own a jet or a fleet of them for that matter.  I pay for health insurance for my family on my own dime and have never burdened the system.  I bought a house that was within my budget and have never been late on a payment; I've never 'needed' a bailout.  I vote, I serve and I try to be a productive member of my community yet it seems to be harder and harder for me to keep living the 'American Dream' these days.  Gas is expensive, milk is expensive, health care is expensive.  What are you doing for me?  How can you make life just a bit easier on me like you're trying to for all of these extraneous groups?  When do I get your focus?"

Sounds selfish, yes?  Please know that all of the "I's" and "Me's" in this statement are meant to represent a lot of Americans. . . and I know they exist because they are my friends and family.  It's like being the kid in school that ALWAYS got good grades - hundreds of kids get help and recognition for improvement every term when they go from Ds to Cs but what if you didn't need improvement?!?  What if you were doing what you were supposed WITHOUT promise for reward? 

Short blog, my story.  What would YOU ask the President if you had 2 minutes?

Trust me. . . she's amazing.

OK, so you are all aware that I don't like to use this blog for promotion. . . unless it's shameless self-promotion then it's a totally different story!!  In fact, most (if anything) I write about products or people on here is either weird in nature or not what the average person would call 'positive.'

Well, today I'm breaking away.  This blog goes in the Shorty McGee club because it's Friday afternoon and rather than read, you should just listen.

This girl is magic.  You know that old adage 'She could sing a phone book and it would sound amazing'?  Well they made that up to talk about her. 

Sara B. . . thanks for all the road trips.

Videos from a favorite. . . happy listening.

Classic tune.  Otis would be proud.

Great recovery in the middle. . . made me giggle.

And last but certainly not least, the song that I've had in my head for the last three days.  Weezer is good but Sara B makes it better.  Go ahead and dance.  For this there is no shame.



Social me this, will ya?

Did you know that I do Social Media as part of my job?  I know you'd never guess it by how infrequently I update my blog these days; call it the world's greatest irony.  So what.

This morning as I was doing my normal social perusing (aka snooping into other people's lives that they've chosen to discuss online), I saw this video that politely explains why we all need Google+.  (I was a skeptic at first too but no, the video wasn't produced by Google and it's actually mildly entertaining. . . especially the part where the 'Social Media Guru' comes in.  Just so you know, all gurus ARE bald.  What up, David?!)

Needless to say, in all my anxiousness, I got totally overwhelmed with the thought of signing up for yet another social network.  Seriously?  Do I really need to do this for another hour a day?  I can't even be funny frequently enough to keep my Facebook and Twitter updates fresh once per day let alone bringing on the 500 pound gorilla, Google.  I just can't do it.  I can't.

The part that is frustrating (as I'm sure you also were drawn to if you watched my easily-embedded video - thanks Blogger, ahem, Google) is that there is some great functionality in this new interface, stuff that is pretty dang useful.  It has left me sitting at my desk re-enacting a scene from a horribly dramatic movie where the girl gets married and then realizes that she's in love with another man: "Whhhhhyyyyyy?  Whhhhhhyyyyy?  Where were you when I needed you four years ago, Google?  It's too late!  How can I choose?"

As of late, I've been pretty negative Nancy about the whole Social Media thing anyway, leaving me to wonder why I'm having a Jessie Spano-sized freak out over Google+.  I complain all of the time about how sick I am of Facebook - not necessarily about the functionality of it but the lack of candor, maybe, that people exercise when choosing to update.

As I said earlier, I make a pretty conscious effort to be at least a little amusing in my status updates on both Twitter and Facebook (if not before, the pressure is certainly on now); adding value (I choose entertainment) is always important when publishing Social Media content.  I have noticed as of late though that reading Facebook updates parallels watching the nightly news immediately following September 11th - it's nothing but depressing.  Somewhere along the Facebook timeline, the general populous has decided to use Facebook's power for evil rather than good and it's getting pretty old.  If you fall into this category, my apologies but this conversation is long overdue.

I've made a list of all of the things that drive me crazy about the use of Social Media (namely Facebook) and why they are no-nos in my book.  Agree or disagree, it's fine.  But at least now you'll know why you maybe didn't make it off the cutting room floor next time I clean house on my "friend" list.  Here we go:

• Location, location, location.  It's an old real-estate mantra that apparently the FB community has taken to heart.  If you are going to be at dinner for an hour and want to check in some place, good on ya.  If you are planning to be gone for a week to a remote village with no cell phone access and you left your pearls (I know, it's a mystery novel cliche) on your nightstand, don't announce it.  You might as well tell me where the key is so you won't have to pay for a broken window in addition to your now missing pearls.  (Please note that when I say "me", I don't actually mean me.  I'm not a thief.  But someone might be.)  I've said on several occasions that a great date night activity would be to spend an hour gathering a list of all of the people you know are out of town, look up their addresses on the trusty interweb and go to their houses and leave a post-it note saying "Knew you were gone.  Lucky it was us and not someone shady.  Love, The Facebook Bandits."  Good times, right?  That would scare you straight.

         These updates are most dangerous when paired with the next FB over site:

• How do we know each other?  If I can't (within 20 seconds. . . and that's stretching it) process how we know each other and recall the gleaming status of said relationship, you're not making the cut.  Don't add people that you think you saw at Smith's once to your friend list.  It's not safe.  You know that guy who you saw at that one sweet party that you talked to/asked to move his car so you could make curfew?  He's not your friend.  And he might be a creeper.  (Please note that when I say "he", I totally mean he because generally, and the incarceration numbers can back me here, men are more of the PHYSICAL creepers.  I will not, however, disregard the fact that you boys need to be equally as careful with adding the ladies so you don't end up with a bucket of crazy on your hands; she likely won't physically hurt you but she could destroy you otherwise). 

         All I'm asking is for a little caution.  I know it's everyone's dream to have the most "friends" on FB and the most followers on Twitter but I'm going to just lay this out - you aren't Ashton Kutcher and you never will be so let go of the dream, man.  Let it go.

• Drama, anyone?  Have you noticed that Facebook has turned from a narcissists bragging playground ("Got a new truck!", "Had a hot date!", "Man, I'm amazing!") to the most heart-wrenching complaint fest of all time?  I can't even log into Facebook without a box of tissues;  (OK, the old me would have been sympathetic and had a box of tissues.  The new, more seasoned me just gets really annoyed by it.  I'm just being honest.)  It's become the one place that you can get mass amounts of sympathy about the most ridiculous, "This happens to everyone" kind of stuff.  (It's basically reminiscent of this blog post. . . complain, complain, complain.  See what you're doing to me!?")

         Not that Social Media isn't a great place to get support for the trials in your life or to offer condolences to those that have trials, I'm just saying "Enough already!" with this kind of stuff:

1. Worst day ever. . . I hate Monday.  (we all do.  Monday is the official end of what we call the weekend - a time for relaxation and enjoyment.  Who wants that to end?  Nobody.  We all hate it.)
2. I hate bad drivers! (Again, we all do.  never once have I heard someone say "I love bad drivers!"  Never once.  Plus, you just entered the "bad driver" category by being on Facebook while you're behind the wheel.  Knock it off.  Someone is likely Facebooking about you right now.)
3. Why me?!?  (I don't know.  None of us actually do.  And, just as a side note, God isn't on Facebook.  I checked.  Perhaps another mechanism for asking that question might be appropriate?  Just sayin'.)
4. I can't sleep.  (Here's a thought: get off this glaring box called the computer and do something a little more soothing like reading a book.  Besides, how could anyone sleep once they get fired up reading all of these negative things on Facebook!)

You get the point.  As a general rule of thumb, if you were to say your complaint to someone's face and their only response would/could be "Oh.", don't post it.  That's life.  We're all going through hurt arms and bad days and tired feet and broken lights.  Crap happens. . . but I don't want mine to be published for ever and ever. . . except maybe in my blog.  :)

Kids these days. . .

I've found myself over the last several months having conversations that end in me saying "How old AM I?"  I ask this because these conversations generally revolve around youngsters and how messed up their lives are becoming.  Am I THAT old?  Have things REALLY changed that much in 15. . .ish. . . years?

I started thinking about my fondest memories from when I was young and how if a kid tried to pull of now what we did then, they would either be to tired to keep up or bored after about seven seconds because there are no text keys.  I'm sad that my kids won't have the same crazy fun that I had. . . and at the same time, I'm more sad that my kids won't get the discipline I got growing up (you know, the kind where the neighbors mom wasn't afraid to teach you manners).  Kids need that.  Ugh, see, I sound old.

Anyway, in honor of my days of yore, I've decided to make a list of some of the "That would never happen today" activities of my yester-year.  This is good times.  I hope you can relate.

• Micromachine races down the driveway.  I always wanted the monster truck because it would make it over the cracks.  Because I was the only girl, I generally got the Porshe with no lift and got stuck every 8 feet.
• Baseball in the street.  Tag in the street.  Roller skates in the street.  We did everything in the middle of the street.  We'd yell "Car!" on the rare occasion that one of our mom's would pull in after getting groceries but generally, the street was a safe place to be.
• When mom pulled in with the groceries, we helped.  We were expected to.  My schedule was never more important than my mother's and my dad made sure we understood that.  We helped bring in groceries and then we stayed and ran them down into the storage room or the bathrooms or wherever they needed to go.  Bottom line, we helped.
• We had sword fights every year with Christmas wrapping paper tubes.  Kids now would think that is "lame and boring" but it was quite fun.  We beat the tar out of each other every year for about 30 minutes (that's about how long all of the paper rolls would last until they we annihilated).
• We had camp outs in our backyard.  My dad would humor us and set up a tent and there wouldn't be TV or phones so we played outside until it was time for bed.
• We had to pick up the phone without any idea who it was.  It was actually kind of a treat when the phone rang.  We didn't get called or contacted nearly as much as kids do now and when the phone would ring, we really hoped it was for us. . . but that's the great part, nobody knew!
• We were on time.  We had to be.  It was completely inconvenient to stop and find a pay phone and (assuming you had your day planner with the person's number written down) call them to tell them you'd be 20 minutes late.  So, we just weren't.  We scheduled things, left plenty of time for travel and didn't bail out at the last minute when something better came along.  We showed up, on time, and with everything that we needed.  Otherwise, we were a waste.
• We read and wrote our own material.  No Internet to copy from, no sir.  We had to go to this building called the library and go through card catalogs and find books related to homework.  Then, we had to read.  A lot.  We could photocopy but that does nobody any good.  We researched and read and it was actually kind of difficult.  I would say that it paid off.  We will always be more resourceful than ChaCha.
• We played Kick the Can and Sardines a lot.  If you don't know what that is, go to the library.
• We got hurt.  We had fights with neighbor kids, we wrestled in the front yard.  We got bloody noses, bloody knees, scratched faces and bad sunburns and not one person ever called protective services.  Kids sometimes get hurt. . . and it's no body's fault.  And parents, know that it's OK if your kids get hurt.  It'll make 'em tough.  Look at you.

Taking the "option" out of Adoption. . .

Stay with me as I make my point, please.  Don't bail out half way through this one because I don't need you parading around saying that I'm a heartless crazy.  (Unless you were doing that before this blog post then, proceed).  I'm hoping we can start a good discussion about this so if you have information that I may "clearly" not be aware of, make it known in the comments.  I'd really like to better understand this topic. So obviously the best way to do that is to blog about it first, right? 

I'm at a point in my life where I am, as people would say, "not getting any younger."  My clock is ticking and prime time is coming to an end and all of those other cliche comments about the female reproductive system are rearing their ugly and only partially-accurate heads.  I'm not ancient, but I'm not that spring chicken that everyone references when it comes to talking about having babies.

That said, I'm also not planning on having a baby tomorrow (a biological impossibility) but hopefully, sometime in the not-so-distant future a little one will grace our home we'll have the family we've always hoped for.

So, I think this is clear but in case it isn't: babies are on the brain.  Right now, all of them are cute, all of them are fun, all of them scream ridiculously loud!  (Isn't it funny how you really start to notice that when you're thinking about having one in your house?  It's like noticing how much puppies pee the second you decide to get one!  Crazy!)

As we've been thinking and talking of kids, we've (like most people) started thinking about all of our child-having options.  We're hip.  We're "with it".  We realize that not all babies come into a family the same way.  So our discussions always, of course, include adoption.  As I've looked around and read a little (I can't emphasize the LITTLE part of that enough - I'm no expert), one thing continues to come to mind: Why is it so dang difficult. . . expensive. . . difficult??

I'm a strong advocate of adoption for two very important reasons; two of the brightest spots in my life were adopted by my brother and sister-in-law and I couldn't imagine our family without them.  Dallas and Sarah did what so many are desperate to do - bring two incredible and smart kids into their home and offer them a life they wouldn't have had otherwise.  I watch these kids and see the lives that they are being provided in a loving, caring environment and my heart jumps into my throat!  I'm so grateful for my fam and for the mothers of these incredible kiddos for giving them the opportunities that they might not have had otherwise.  My gratitude knows no limits.

While my exposure is limited to my sphere, I have seen enough to know that there are a lot of kids that aren't as lucky - they don't have moms that are thinking about their futures and decide to place them in homes where they can flourish.  There are thousands of kids out there without moms and dads, without homes and without choices.  These kids (sometimes multiple siblings at a time) are abandoned or parent-less for a variety of reasons and still, desperately, need homes just like their counterparts.

So I know you're thinking "Car, I know why adoption exists. . . I didn't come here for that."  I know.  I'm painting a picture - some would say for dramatic effect, I say because I don't know any better.

Here is my point: Why, with thousands of kids in this predicament from all over the world and hundreds of good families willing to give at least some of them homes, is it so hard to make the two sides pair up?  I know families that have been on lists for YEARS waiting to be able to adopt a child and I also know that there are thousands of kids that need good homes - need, supply, need, supply.  This system isn't meeting the basic economic formula! 

In addition to the time these people are waiting to be found, the expense associated with processing fees alone is enough to put a person into years of debt - that's before you even start clothing, feeding and providing shelter for these little faces.  In addition to that you have multiple week-long trips abroad (if applicable, of course.  Don't go buying a ticket to Guam if you are wanting to adopt in Kansas - that's just silly.) to sit in a hotel room and wait. . . the list could go on.

I'm not naive.  I know that work costs money - I work at an ad agency for goodness sake and we bill by the hour; adoption takes work, and rightfully so.  But I look at the expenses associated with these adoption services (which can vary greatly by country, by the way, which confuses me even more) and I wonder how families can afford time and time again to pay these astronomical fees that can go toe-to-toe with a down payment on a large house. 

Should the adoption agencies continue to do thorough background checks on people submitting for adoption?  Yes.  Should they be able to prove that they will provide adequate love, living space and life to these kids? Absolutely.  Visas, legal fees, transportation, all of it costs and I can't imagine that any of those things could or should be cut out of the process but I also wonder how many more families would get involved in this incredible process if it weren't so intimidating??

I know that there isn't an adoptive parent out there that wouldn't do it again and I'm positive that every kid has been worth every penny that's needed to change hands and every hour sitting in a hotel room.  At this point, I've only reaped the benefits of the system in my niece and nephew, without any of the work.  I may need a navigation lesson, I suppose.  Or a ticket to Guam?

Words of Wisdom. . .

Dear Super-Fast Phone Number Guy,
Thanks for leaving a message on my machine.  I got most of it, except that pesky phone number part.

You see, you spoke very clearly throughout most of the message, enunciating your words and using impressive vocabulary.  That is until you asked me to call you back "ASAP" (which, just as a sidenote, is generally considered the "urgent red flag" of the phone world) and then rattled off your phone number like you were Tom Cruise diffusing a bomb; all I actually heard was 415-shma-shmeeeeh-smah-extension smeh-smah-2.  While it was impressive that you have your phone number THAT memorized, I don't.  If I tried to dial that number, I am as likely to reach you as I am to order some delicious Chinese takeout in your same area code.

In the future, if you really need me to call you back "ASAP", hurry up your message and use the two seconds that you shaved off to actually tell me your phone number at a speed that I might be able to dictate.  I'm not a court reporter, man.  I'm a girl with a pen that occasionally needs a scribble to get moving.  Breathe your way through that phone number part and I promise you, I'll call you back next time.

Don't feel sad.  Your friend, The 10 min Message Guy who Didn't Bother to Leave a Phone Number After all of That!, is getting his letter as we speak.

Sincerely,
The Girl with Too Many Messages

Old habits die hard. . .

I'm a creature of habit, that's the truth.  I don't deal well with change.  In fact the idea of making a major life shift makes my heart rate jump just enough to mimic a slow jog.  It's weird though because I love adventure.  The problem is that it better be planned-for, packed-appropriately, scheduled-in adventure or I'll have nothing to do with it. 

That's just how it's always worked. . . we planned for everything.  Us Hamblins have all had planners or date books or calendars ever since I can remember.  (One of my favorite things still to do each year is to go and find next year's planner. . . same exact model and layout as last year please or I will hyperventilate, I promise you.).  We grew up knowing where we were to be at what time and in what clothes.  I promise you that if you need to know how much a gallon of milk cost in 1997, my mom has it on a grocery list somewhere in her planner (it's basically a Mecca of information and I have zero doubts that the cure to cancer is hidden somewhere in those leather-bound walls).

Anyway, the point is that this is the way it was. . . and continues to be today.  My name is Carlee and I am a plan-aholic. 

Does this neurotic 'planning' thing sound familiar?  Does it feel 'comfortable' and 'good'?  It does to me too because that's what I'm used to and frankly, couldn't even SEE life any other way.  I'm like a Clydesdale with Franklin Covey blinders on.

So, I shocked my system a little bit.  What did I do?  I got married.  The therapy that it has brought to my twisted mind is worth all of the extra laundry, promise.  Living with someone else and sharing everything with them has surprised. . . no shocked. . . no STUNNED me as I've seen how many other ways there are of doing things.  Trev is more of a fly-by-the-seat of his pants kind of guy than I've ever been a day in my life.  (I'm too busy figuring out which pants and why those pants and will flying by them make them rip?).  He's organized and responsible but he certainly doesn't own a planner. . . and, I'll admit it, probably shocked by the number of "to-do" lists a single person can have - four at once.  I know, I'm embarrassed for me, too.

Just looking at our two ways of doing things got me thinking. . . I've always been a big planner because, as previously stated, that was my world.  Mom and Dad had planners so it was only right that I had a Fisher Price one, right?  Right.

This relentless love affair with to-do lists and planning got me thinking about how many things I do in my life just because that's. . .well. . .that's just how you do it!  Call it being afraid to venture out or call it naivety for just assuming that it was the only way to do things.  The bottom line is that I'm looking at my legacy and wondering how much of it is Carlee and how much of it is Pavlov. . . simply a learned habit. 

Let's take steak, for instance.  My parents eat their steak medium-well.  So do I.  I have all of my life.  I never ordered it any other way because that's how we order steak.

Or banking.  Where do I bank?  We'll I wouldn't put that on the web, silly.  But it's the same place that parents bank.  Why?  Because that's where we bank!  Who needs a better reason than that?

My point is that I'm a lemming sometimes; it's easier to assume that other people know all the right answers than to have to research it myself.  The problem is. . . how will I ever know what my tastes are if they are always based on the tastes of others?  Confucius say: he who can't find his own tastes will never eat tomatoes. . . or something like that.

I successfully broke one of these habits some years ago and it was totally liberating.  I used to use my online banking to verify that my checkbook tracking was correct.  Read that last sentence again, slowly.  Yes, I was a checkbook believer and couldn't imagine ever swiping my debit card without recording it in the book of life. . . er. . . my checkbook.  I saved receipts for days on end and wrote them all down and then verified that I got them all through the power of the Internet and online banking.  Does that seem silly?  Well, it's what I knew.  So, I decided to be brave and only write down the actual checks that I wrote (which amounts to about two per month) and just verify my purchases and balances online.  It was tough at first but man, there was nothing more liberating than changing a habit that did nothing but inconvenience me to start with. 

So I'm on a mission to change things up.  I'm aiming to find things that can be done a better way - different isn't good enough, it needs to be BETTER or why change?  I'm going to break some habits and improve some schedules. . . maybe tone it back to two "to-do" lists.  The thought of this makes me really excited I should celebrate!  Maybe eat a steak. . . and I think I'll take it medium.

Costuming

Note to the general public:

If you cannot leave your house without already having multiple fights with your clothing, surrender immediately.  Discard the clothing that is bothering you because I can promise you this with 100% certainty:

IT WILL BOTHER YOU ALL DAY.

Today's nemesis: Tights.

That is all.

Diary of a Chubby Girl

I'm writing this post with total awareness of its implications - I just want you to know that.  Sometimes posts like this get written in hopes of receiving notes of encouragement or kind words and while your mental notes are appreciated, they are unnecessary here.

This was all sparked by an off-hand comment made to me today at work.  A co-worker and I were discussing an informational video that they had seen online and I asked them to forward it so I could watch.  After several minutes, they re-appeared in my office and said "No offense, but there is part of the video that has to do with obesity and the affects that it has. . ." This, my friends, is where I stopped listening and started internalizing what had just happened.  "No offense. . ."  What did that even mean?  I shouldn't be offended that they talk about obesity or I should be more self-aware. . . I'm not really sure but in case there was ever any doubt about how I see myself, I'm going to clear it up right now: I am chubby.  Been aware of it for years.  There, the cat's out of the bag.  Newsflash: The chubby girl knows!!!  I hope we can all relax now and stop filtering our comments about weight and health.

Most of the people that will read this know me well and know that this isn't a new revelation.  In fact, it's one that I've dealt with my whole life.  What I haven't done (until this very moment) is have a very real, out-loud look at my self image.  I've tried everything short of therapy to try and understand who I am and why the chips (mmm, chips. . . jokes, jokes) fell the way they did so maybe this will help.  Then again, maybe it won't but here it goes. 

The battle of the bulge didn't start last week for me - I didn't wake up on Wednesday and think to myself "I think I'm a bit overweight!  How did this happen?"  As much as I wish this was a day-to-day battle over whether I liked how I looked or not, it hasn't been.  In fact, I would dare say that there has probably been no more than a 30 day period in my life where I truly liked the way I looked. . . and man did I look good in those Pampers.  Do you know what it's like to struggle with body image every day of your life?  Sadly, a lot more women than are willing to admit it fight this battle every morning.  I've been one of them. . .but I'm thinking about stopping.

I'm actually a very normal girl with a very normal appetite.  I know that it's shocking to the general public that people that are overweight actually do like carrots and I know that it shocks the hell out of most people when we ask for a box at the end of a meal because we can't eat all of our food (thanks for staring at us while we eat, by the way. . . it's very encouraging) but it does happen.  I like vegetables and fruit.  I also like pasta and french fries, just like your average eater.  I don't over-indulge on a regular basis.  I don't slap mayo on my 100% fried food in order to get it down.  In fact, because I struggle with my weight, I pay very close attention to the things that I put in my body. . . and I probably eat better than a lot of people.

I've been an athlete all of my life and I've never been prejudiced toward sports.  I have more belts and trophies than most people could dream about and they are NOT for serving water on the sidelines while I eat a donut.  I play basketball, softball, soccer and did karate. . . and I am decent at all of them.  I like to dance and lift weights and have run a 5k within the last year.  I will work and sweat and move more in a day than most people do every two.  Contrary to popular belief, overweight people aren't all lazy.  I get up early, I work long days, I visit family and contribute to my community.

I am healthy.  I have the cholesterol counts and heart rate to prove it.  My organs function as they should.  I've never drank nor smoked a day in my life.  My mind is sharp and full of ideas.

I say all of this to prove a point.  Despite all of my efforts, all of my awareness, all of my try and work and sacrifice. . . I'm still chubby.  Does it bother me every day?  Sure does.  I'll be the first to admit that I would adore waking up tomorrow and having the body that I deserve - the one that I've worked very hard for all of my life.  That would be ideal.  I keep waking up every day hoping. . .

But, more importantly, do I think I'm more than this?  Absolutely.  As much as I wish things were different and that this wasn't such a tough battle for me and millions of other people, I'm better than that.  I'm better than taking "offense" to your comments and staring and judgement because this struggle has made me sensitive and understanding and mindful of other people's struggles.

I know that it may be hard for some people to grasp but when you tell a chubby girl that she's chubby, you aren't likely telling her something she doesn't already know.  So, you can stop staring and whispering and talking about how I could "let myself get like this."  I'll tell you how - I did exactly the same thing that you all do every day.  This is just my battle.  All things considered, I think that my ailment, while very visible, is pretty minimal compared to what I could be dealing with, no?

'Nuff said. . . I need a carrot.

Let's Talk Thief. . . Update

SO, for those of you that were brave enough to read my original post, I figured it was fair that I give you a very brief update.

Went to court this morning.  Finally saw the little fella who had the nerve to take our things.  Frankly, I'm baffled that he was even able to reach the door handle to our truck.  He had this little face and the body of, well, a 10-year-old girl.  (This is a 10-year-old girl in 1990, not now.  Today they have implants and fake hair and lashes.)  He looked so small and I was sure that when I saw him I would feel this overwhelming need to hug him and tell him that he'll be OK. . .  False, I did not.

He's still claiming that he didn't do it DESPITE the fact that the cops found our phone in his room. . . you know, the one that was taken from our car along with a bunch of other stuff.  Anyway, because he claims that he did nothing, the prosecutor (my new hero) told the judge that we'd like to go to trial.  Bam!  Not getting off that easy.

So, we should be receiving a subpoena in the next 30 days (gee, I hope they deliver it to us during church again. . . I'm hoping to keep up my rep as the bad, bad seed in the ward that needs help.  You get more cookies on your doorstep that way.) and will be all set to testify during the first part of December.

Not over, making progress.  We'll keep you posted!

More things I've discovered. . .

So, it's been a while since I took some inventory of this crazy little thing called life and what I've learned.  In fact, it's coming up on three years.  My last post of this wort talked about Who I Am.  This one is going to continue that discovery process - it's a rocky road (mmmmm, rocky road) so buckle your seat belts and keep your arms and legs inside. . . OK, I'm getting carried away.  The point is, here we go:

1. I loathe yogurt.  But I eat it because it's good for me.
2. Yogurt makes me think about life and how many things I do that I loathe but in the end, really are probably good for me.  I think that they happen every day.  Laundry comes to mind.
3. I really like watching the Discovery Channel, a lot. Even the weird shows about fishing and truck driving.
4. I like the feel of the rain when it's warm outside.
5. I finally fell in love.  The forever kind.  Who knew that my first time would be a home run?  Honestly, I expected nothing less.
6. I really like coming up with new formulas in Excel.  It's nerdy, that's me.
7. I want to ride in a hot air balloon one day. 
8. Being a wife makes you quite a bit more selfless, if you're doing it right.  I can't wait to find out how it feels to be a mom.
9. Back to the yogurt thing. . . Black Forrest Cake Yogurt doesn't taste like cake at all, it tastes like yogurt.  Call it what you will but yogurt flavored like delish desserts can only be compared to one thing: putting lipstick on a pig.
10. I love my bed.  It's one of the nicest things that I own.
11. I've hit the tipping point where I finally feel like I'm worth more than I make.  I'm six years into my career and it's taken a LOT of extra work to feel that way.
12. I write lists about EVERYTHING.  I sometimes add things that I've done to my "To Do" lists just to check them off immediately.
13. As much as I complain about being busy, I make myself that way.  I like being involved.
14. We just got Netflix and I love it.  I know, it's like announcing that I just "got the Internet and it's really cool".
15. The more "stuff" you have, the more "stuff" you have to worry about.
16. Hobbies are important.  I need one that isn't reading.
17. The news makes me sad and the sadness usually outweighs it's "informative" benefit.
18. I've joined the millions who can say that they have "Tweeted".
19. My family more than tripled in size when I got married and I love every minute of it.
20. I'm more insecure than I ever thought.  The good news is that it all stems from really dumb things so I hope to move past it one day.
21. I think a lot. . . and fast.  I would guess my think to speak ratio is about 463:1.
22. I miss my grandparents.  It's amazing how that affects you as you get older.
23. My parents are the kindest people I know.  You could have everyone take a "kind" test and they would win.  I hope that their compassion was genetic and that people can one day see in me all that I see in them.
24. Stealing things is bad.
25. I like breakfast food the very most.  I could eat it all day, every day.

Shorter than last time, I know. . . and slightly more odd.  I'm I only learning weird things about myself as I get older?  Fun.

Let's talk thief. . .

So this has been one of the "list" topics that I knew everyone wanted to hear about but couldn't bear to write until I knew my blood wouldn't boil over while I wrote it.  I think I'm finally to the point of "purge" and can effectively get it out of my system.

For those of you that are used to me doing mindless chatter that may or may not be funny, I'll do my best to insert that as much as possible.  But this is probably going to be a journey of another kind - be warned.  I don't like being somber or philosophical in my writing because I get nervous and I don't do it well but I think it's sort of necessary during parts so here we go.  Not sad, just serious, sort of.  I'm also going to try and keep it to the points that matter.  The "in person" story is much more animated (as usual) so if you wanna hear it, give me a ring!

About a month and a half after Trev and I were married, we were pulled out of church by a Layton City police officer.  How's that for a start to a story, eh?  Yeah. .  that's what my debate coach liked to call an "attention grabber".  Thanks, Hop.  Now this was doubly cruel not just because we were pulled out but because we were new. . . and from what I hear, the church doesn't look favorably on criminal activity which is what it looked like.

I had just seen the uniformed officer after sacrament meeting and leaned over to Trev and said "That is sad.  There is only two reasons they come to church in uniform: to arrest you or tell you that someone in your family has been in an accident."  No sooner had those words left my mouth (that's what I call K-A-R-M-A) than we overheard the officer asking someone if they knew where Trevor was.  My heart hit my feet, literally.  Thoughts rushed my mind of my parents and Trev's parents and what could have happened.  I'm glad to say that I did not, for one second, assume that he was a drug dealer. See. . . we really are in love!

Trev went back and introduced himself and the officer asked Trev to step outside.  Heart, in the feet.  Remind you.  This is where the first lesson comes in.  As I stood in the foyer of our church building, by myself, new, obviously nervous, all I overheard was people talking about our family.  I heard everything from "That's so embarrassing" to "Go out and try to listed to what is going on, dad" and people laughing and pointing at us.  Trevor and I had done nothing wrong and yet because of how things "looked", we were completely judged.  I've never looked at other people in awkward situations the same way since. . . at least OUTSIDE of Wal-Mart. . .

It's amazing how a situation like that can change your perspective.  Nobody knew what was happening, not even me and yet we were immediately pegged as bad people who should be embarrassed.  I started thinking about how many times I'd done similar things by making assumptions and jumping to conclusions.  Bad Carlee.  That instant, that moment, changed me.

Come to find out, some of our stuff was recovered outside of a home near ours and the officers were trying to find out if we knew anything about our vehicles (that's right. . . plural) that had been broken into.  We identified the things that they had collected and made our way back to the house.

The police told us that in addition to our stuff, a young girl had been found on the lawn drunk as a skunk and had been taken to the hospital to be treated.  Oh, and she wasn't talking about anything that had happened.  The weird part is that we would have had to walk right past said girl, passed out on the lawn, on the way to church and we MISSED it!?!?  How in the world did that happen?  I mean, I can get caught up in my own business and get chatty but I would like to think I pay more attention than that!!  Second lesson: pay attention, particularly to your feet.  You'll never know when you have to step over a drunk.

So, after we talked to the police I did the only logical thing I could think of - I cried.  A lot.  We had a TON of stuff missing and it was a huge deal - a big Nikon camera, a laptop, a projector.  Sidenote: Let me explain why our trucks sounded like a pawn shop.  Trev uses a lot of electronics in his business.  We had been out the night before with the equipment.  We didn't generally, and never now, store our electronics outside.  All it took was one night of random laziness and kablam!

We talked with the cops, tried to figure out what happened, they (unfortunately) weren't very helpful.  I got frustrated, got mad, got sad, felt violated, felt nervous and then after the first ten minutes. . . seriously, it's a vicious cycle. 

And that leads us into lesson number three.  Don't steal things.  Let me tell you what it does to the person that you steal from.  Besides upsetting them beyond a point they've probably ever been and besides the fact that they worked for all of those things and you did NOT, you take every sense of security that they may have ever had about their home and their things and in 20 minutes, you wipe it out.  Completely.  You make them not sleep for weeks, you made them check the locks on my car. . . I mean their car four times every night and you make them get nervous enough that they sit through the most agonizing four hours of their life to get a concealed weapons permit. . .That may sound far-fetched but really, it happens.  So, don't steal.  OK, pumpkins?

Anyway. . . here we are months later.  Since this blog is already hitting maximum word capacity and we aren't even to the good stuff yet, I'm going to give you the Reader's Digest version, ready?  (If you want to skip the list, you can skip to the end for a spoiler).  Here we go:

• Cops: "Can't do much."
• Carlee: Whaaaaaaaat?  Crying. . .
• Waiting.  Nothing.
• Fixing truck.  Light bulb over my head.  Inspired.
• Carlee: "We need to check KSL."
• Trevor: "Found a camera, looks like ours.  Vague description.  Posted same day ours was stolen.  I'm calling."
• Calling.  Rings.  No answer.  Go to bed.
• Wake up.  Calling again.  Rings.  Kid answers.  No idea about the camera.  Makes me curious.  I start asking who the name is on the ad.  Find out it's kid's older brother.  SUSPICION RISES.
• Carlee's Trusty Office Mate says "We should Google the phone number."
• Google the phone number.  Apparently this kid is a long time electronics dealer on KSL.com.  Weird.  How many 13-year-olds have access to GPS systems, phones, cameras, computers. . . I could go on but you get my point.  He also has a habit of taking down his account after each sale.  Also weird.
• Feel like Angela Lansbury on a hunt.
• My buddy who works as a cop tells me that this kid has been in trouble a LOT. . . and caught attempting to break into cars before. . . oh and that he lives two blocks away.  This is where the phrase "coincidence" flies out the window.
• Call police, tell them info.  I'm excited.  They are not.  Nothing happens.
• Carlee gets stir crazy.  Decides to send a letter to the Chief of Police in Layton with all of the info. . . including a disclaimer that he probably hears this from people all the time and that I'm blaming anyone YET but this looks beyond suspicious and that I pay my taxes and every other patriotic or political thing I could think of about why someone has to do something.  Sidenote: Kids, don't try this maneuver at home.  I was desperate and angry and frankly, guided so don't inundate the C.O.P. with a ton of emails.
• Email returned same day with an apology, an explanation of how overworked the cops are (which they wouldn't be if we all listened to rule number three. . . don't steal things) and a promise to do something and look into it.
• Carlee is sad because while the response was amazing, how often do they actually do anything??
• Trevor "Um, I just got a call from a detective and they are in this kid's room right now and they found my phone."
• Carlee: Whaaaaaaaat!?
• Police station.  Nice, super hardcore detective.  Explains what happened.  Went to house, talked to grandpa, grandpa denied, cop said "Prove it by letting us look around", gramps said "Come on in!"  I LOVE GRAMPS!  Thanks for the permission.
• Cop comes in, cop finds phone, gramps goes silent.  Kid is busted. 
• Carlee feels like they should make a new detective show called "The Hansens" and we'll just help bust Internet crime!  I watch "To Catch a Predator".  We could totally hack it.
• Kid goes in to station.  Has "no idea" how the phone got in his room.  I used that excuse too when I had "no idea" how all the Popsicles got eaten.  Cute.  Boy refuses to talk.  Sidenote: is it weird that you can just refuse to talk to the cops and they let you leave?  That is certainly not how it works on TV and it was totally disconcerting.  Next time the cops come to my house because I'm quilting too loud, I'm not even answering the door!
• Kid says the camera was his mom's and he was selling it for her.  Not really possible since mom is in prison.  Yes, that's what we're dealing with.
• Cop charges kid with two counts of car burglary and one count of possession of stolen property. 
• Hansen's feel vindicated.
• Trevor gets notice in the mail that we need to fill out some statements for court.  Hansen's do so and are so verbose that it turned out longer than this blog.  They need to know how we felt, right?  Gosh.

OK, there's the bulleted list of everything that happened.  I know it sounds crazy and it was.  The bottom line is that we found the kid who took our stuff because he was not bright (and/or 13. . . they may be interchangeable) and posted one of our things on KSL.  We busted him, turned him over to the cops who busted him again and now he is in BIG trouble with the court.

No, we didn't get our stuff back.  At this point, it's probably on it's way to Guam.  We learned a bunch, we cried a bunch, we grew a bunch and we learned the most valuable lesson: be careful about your feelings toward others and how much you let that run your life.  Hate and dis contempt and revenge WILL take over your life and drive you crazy.  We realized that early on in this process and vowed to not let it get the best of us and, luckily, it didn't.  As many times as I wanted to see this kid picking up trash and cleaning poo for what he did and as much as I wish we had our things back, I can't help but feel bad for him.  What would life have been like for me if I didn't have anyone that cared enough to know where I was at 2:00 in the morning?  How different would my life have turned out if I knew that my parents would never know that I had thousands of dollars worth of electronics in my bedroom that didn't belong to me?  I'm sure things would be vastly different for me now.

I'm learning (again) to love my neighbor. . . even if my neighbor is a kid who can't keep his hands to himself.